The women who work for Vouge.
Young, vivacious, and full of blokes.
Their bodies are like Swarovski.
Crafted for keeps, in the shelfs of a mans precious wall piece.
They come out for a smoke.
It is then when I chance to see them billow steam,
They let out an age of pent up fire,
All within their frail empire,
Men all around gape,
Wide and awake,
Drool and faint,
And these damsels,
They behave as if the world has just moved a shade.
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